


Just Another Kid

by shobogan



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Friendship, Gen, Legacy Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 16:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shobogan/pseuds/shobogan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephanie is Jason's best friend. She's about to discover that she's Robin's, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

Robin is knocking on her window.

It takes her a moment to really digest that. 

Then she blinks, and shrugs, and opens the latch. 

"Hey," he says, a crooked smile beneath his mask. "Didn't know…where else to…" And he tumbles off the windowsill into her arms, and that's when she realises he's hurt.

Then he's gazing up at her, a bit dazed but mostly wry. "Well that was embarrassing." 

It takes her a moment, but she comes back with "Not exactly smooth vigilante acrobatics" and sees his smile widen.

She's a bit dazed herself, but she's already considering ways to help him. Because – because it would be the right thing to do. And it would really piss her father off. And there's something about him that just…

"So, um, d'you wanna lie down?" 

"Yeah, that'd be good."

She helps him onto the bed; she's seen her mother do this kind of thing, and she does her best to emulate that careful gentleness. Then she steps back, and watches his head turn as he takes in her bedroom.

For a moment she feels a ridiculous surge of insecurity, for the webs of cracks and tattered toys and peeling posters. But there's nothing appalled or judgmental in Robin's gaze. If anything he seems comfortable here. 

That just deepens her frown. It's another piece of confusion to add to the heaping pile she's collecting. 

But what matters, right now, is helping him out. They have a few first aid kits in the house, and her mom had taught her how to use them, during one of the good weeks.

"You just stay still, I'll be back in a sec."

"Yes ma'am." Stephanie has no idea how he can manage that cocky smile right now, but it makes her smile, too, even as she rolls her eyes and heads off to find what she needs. 

She doesn't give herself time to think as she navigates the dim hallways. She's a girl on a mission. A mission that makes no sense and could end up going horribly wrong, but a mission. 

_How do you know he's even Robin?_ does cross her mind, but she's stared at enough of the pictures. She's always liked Gotham's vigilantes, and Robin – this Robin – looks like a friend. She likes to tease him about it. 

Anyway, she knows real body armour when she sees it, which totally has nothing to do with personal research. 

When she comes back, she catches Robin in the middle of a pained grimace. Ah-hah! Human after all. It makes her heart twist a little, and she hurries towards the bed.

The grimace disappears the moment he sees her, and he pushes himself up into a seated position. His arms tremble slightly. "Nothing broken. Cracked, maybe. Bruises and cuts, mostly." 

"I bet you're exhausted, too." His eyes widen and she'd cross her arms if she wasn't holding the kit. "You fought yourself out, didn’t you?" 

Robin stares at her for a moment, before his lips curve in a rueful smile. "Didn't expect that many of 'em. And I couldn't just stop. …There were kids." 

Her expression softens as she opens the box, snapping the gloves on before sitting down beside him. Then she retrieves the saline and antiseptic wipes. She'll clean the cuts, first. He obligingly holds out his slashed arm. 

She grimaces slightly as she cleans the wound, but doesn't let herself hesitate. 

"So where was Batman in all this?" 

"Other side of Gotham. We split up sometimes to cover more ground. And…" He pauses, brow furrowing slightly. "Someone mentioned the suburbs didn't get as much protection."

"Well good for them, because they don't." 

"Yeah, she threatened to do it herself if we didn't get on the ball." 

Her hands pause instantly on the way to applying the bandage. She slowly looks up, and her eyes meet a mask but she could swear she sees a hint of blue.

His voice. His curls. That _smirk_. Oh my _God_.

"Oh my God, you're _Jason_!"

Robin – Jason, he's _Jason_ – rolls his eyes. "Tell the world already." 

Stephanie pokes him in the chest with her free, albeit damp, finger. "Don't piss off the girl fixing you up, _Robin_."   
"…Okay, good point." And he's wincing, and she realises that one of those cracked bones must be a _rib_ , and oh _crap_ – 

"I'm sorry!"

He holds up his own free hand. Gauntlet. Jason wears _gauntlets_.

"Nah, 'sfine, should've mentioned that. You know, specifically." 

"Yeah. And the fact that you're a masked avenger of the night." A beat. "You know, that costume looks kind of silly close up."

Jason looks somewhere between disgruntled and amused. "Hey, it wasn't _my_ idea." 

"Probably why I didn't make the connection."

But really, how hadn't she? Jason is her best friend. They've known each other for over a year.

They met when she was running away. 

It was something she did sometimes. There was no planning involved, really. She didn't even take anything with her. She just got this frantic, overwhelming urge to _run_ \- away from a home where she didn't feel safe or strong or secure, from a mother who was barely herself anymore, from a father who hurt them both over and over. 

She always came back, after a few hours. She didn't have anywhere else to go. (Who would have her?) Her mother needed her. (Or did she just make things worse?) All it did was leave her exhausted and resigned. 

This time, though, this time it was worth it. 

She ran right into him, of course. They both ended up flat on their butts, but he sprung right back up. He glared down at her and she glared back and the tear streaks on her face burned like acid. 

He saw them, he must have, or something in her eyes, or something in the way she held herself there on the ground, because his gaze went softer the longer he looked. Until he was looking at her with – not _pity_ , just – just concern, and something like understanding. 

"You run into all the cute guys or am I just special?"

She snorted as she picked herself up, but her lips quirked a little. It was quite a thing, when just a minute ago she never felt like she'd smile again. 

"You think pretty highly of yourself, huh." The words were raw and soft; she hated it when her voice got like that. 

"Why wouldn't I?" The boy – he couldn't be much older than her – flashed a grin and tossed his hair and cocked his hips. It was pretty ridiculous, and she didn't bother to contain a hoarse giggle.

He didn't seem to mind. "Nope, couldn't have picked a better person to run over."

"Maybe." 

"Maybe, she says." He snapped his fingers. "Got it! I'll convince you with the best food in Gotham." 

She was sceptical, of course. But her momentum was gone, and she dreaded the thought of going home, and so she found herself in a worn down diner with, apparently, the best chilli dogs in the city.

That was how she found out his name; the waitress recognised him immediately. She was an older woman, with those lines that come from laughter as much as strain. Her smile was warm, genuine, as she bent down to place their silverware.

"Hey, Jason. Same old?"

"'Course. Make it two, all right? And…" He turned to Steph. "I want a coke, how about you?"

"Um. Root beer's good." 

"You got it." 

"Thanks, Nina."

Stephanie watched her go, greying pony tail bobbing as she walked. She ran a hand through her own hair, still mussed from speed and wind. 

"So you come here a lot, huh?"

"Since I was a kid." He shrugged a shoulder. "Nice to have something that stays the same."

She considered him for a moment, and answered softly. "If it's something nice."

His lips curve in a wry, strained smile. "Yeah."

"Here you go, kids." Nina's voice was gentle as she sat down their drinks; Steph guessed the mood was obvious. 

Their thanks jumbled together, sounding oddly pleasant to her ears. She sipped her root bear in silence for a few long moments.

"D'you do this a lot? Take strange girls out for chilli dogs?"

"Only if they bruise me first," he said, smile quick and voice flippant, but her gaze is steady and solemn and his smile fades. When he speaks again his voice is quiet.

"You seemed like you needed some place to run to. Maybe someone to run with. And I know what that's like."

There's honesty in his voice, in his face; not the sly, silky sincerity she'd grown so used to. Something genuine. 

So she nods, and she says, "I'm Stephanie. Steph."

He smiles, then, slight and soft. "Nice to meet you, Steph."

They met at that diner over and over again through the next few months. Stephanie steadily learned more and more about Jason. That he came from a world not so very different from hers, that he'd lived her worst fear, that he had a new life that still didn't quite fit. That he was as passionate and stubborn and lonely as she was. That he could be a complete jackass and a complete sweetheart, sometimes in the same breath.

The diner was where she fled the worst night of her life, and he was there for her. 

And all that time…

God, all those times she said Robin had the same hair and he pouted and told her he'd had those curls _first_ …

All those times he had to cancel. All those times he came with healing injuries. All those times his words got veiled and vague.

Oh, god, what had he thought when she taught him those gymnastics moves? 

"Steph?" 

She's been working in silence, memories a miasma in her mind, and her fingers jerk against his skin. He doesn't wince, though; he's staring too hard, she figures.

"What?" 

"Are you…okay?"

She lets her hands drop, and she takes a deep breath.

"No, Jason, I'm not okay. I mean – there's this giant part of your life I had no _clue_ about and you could have gotten _killed_ and I wouldn't even know _why_ – " And her chest tightens and her eyes burn but she ignores that and pushes on. "It's like I don't even know you and if I don't then how can we – are even really friends?"

"Yes." His answer is immediate and resolute as his hand comes up to squeeze hers. "Fuck, yes. Steph – you've – I don't know how I could've _done_ it without you, okay?"

She can only stare at him. Jason takes a breath, and raises his other hand to pull of his mask. 

"I'm still Jason. And you're my best friend."

His gaze is so intent, so bare, warming her chest and withering her doubts, and she wants to believe him so much. But his hand feels strange in hers, heavy and rough, and she still feels like she barely knows the boy she’s loved and trusted like – like family. 

Like family's supposed to be.

He must see her hesitance, because he speaks again.

“I couldn’t tell you about the worst days, Steph, and it sucked, but – you got me through them. You kept me fighting. I’d remember – I’d remember the shit you’ve survived, or the way you laugh, or…”

He shook his head. “It sounds pretty – but it’s true.” He gives a shrug she’d call plaintive if it weren’t Jason. Jason is never plaintive. Is he? 

Is Robin?

“I came here ‘cause I trust you more than most anyone in the world. As Jason _or_ Robin. And that’s gotta mean something, right?”

She considers him, just as she did so long ago, and she does it for a long time. 

Then, “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

Then she pokes him again, lower this time.

“But don’t think this lets you off the hook, Todd. We’ve got a _lot_ of catching up to do, and you’re getting your grovelling on.”

His smile is pure delight. 

“I'm an open book. An open, grovelling book."

Steph gives him a curt nod, and gets back to patching him up. Jason shifts accordingly.

"So how long's this been going on?" It's good to keep him talking, she reasons, keep his mind off the pain. Yep.

"Over two years, now." 

"So – not long after – after Bruce – _oh my God_ – "

Jason winces again. "Yeah, wondered when you'd realise that part. Um, I don't need to tell you – "

Her eyes still wide, Steph nods hurriedly. "Lips sealed, got it. But – I mean – seriously?" A sudden frown. "Wait. Him taking you in, it wasn't like – dependant on the Robin thing, was it?"

"No!" Jason pauses. "Well, it – kind of happened at the same time, but – "

"Uh- _huh_." Stephanie finishes wrapping another bandage, this one around his leg. "So when you said you stole his tires, they weren't the Batmobile tires – "

Jason smirks. Steph stares.

"They _were_. Jason!" She's caught between punching and laughing, but considering the circumstances, she goes with laughter.

"So he's just like – nice tire lift, want a job?"

Jason snickers. "No – the first part I told you, that's all true. Just, the part with Ma Gunn…"

"So Bruce Wayne didn't exactly _contact_ Batman – "

"And I kind of helped him stop the robbery."

"…Huh." Stephanie peers at him for a moment before going back to the bandaging. She'll never finish at this rate. "I can see how that'd impress the guy." Another frown. "But I thought the other Robin – I mean, it was all over the newspapers – "

Jason shakes his head. "Nah, he's fine, Bruce just made him retire. Didn't even want another sidekick, but I guess he changed his mind."

"Yeah, you have that effect on people," she says absently. She looks up to find him gazing at her with a sort of warm curiosity, and she just shrugs.

"So what's it been like, the past two years? I know how it's been with Bruce, ups and downs – "

"Basically like that, yeah. I like it, mostly – I learned a ton of cool stuff, I get to beat up a bunch of nasty bastards, and you should seriously see the sky from up there – "

"One of those things is not like the others." 

Another roguish smirk. "One of those things is the best part."

"Yeah, I'll bet." She gives his wounds a wry once-over, but he must have heard the jealousy, because his response is, "I could teach you some moves, you know. If you wanted."

"…Really?"

His nod is quick, earnest, as if he's been waiting to make the offer for a long time. "Sure. You're a pretty good gymnast already, and I bet you've got good instincts." 

"…You've thought about this, huh."

Anyone else might look abashed, but Stephanie is fairly sure that Jason is physically incapable. "A bit, yeah. So what do you say?"

She works silently for a moment, and then she looks up. "Only after you've healed up. _All the way_ , Jason."

Jason rolls his eyes, but holds up one hand. "Robin's honour."

And that's how she ends up as Robin's student.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason, it turns out, is a pretty good teacher.

They practice in one of Gotham's rare fields, tucked away from prying eyes. The wild grass provides a decent enough cushion when she lands on her butt, which is a lot more than she'd like. 

Most of the time, Jason doesn’t help her up. She appreciates that.

She appreciates a lot about how he teaches her. They start out basic, simple blocks and dodges, but he never makes her feel like she's inferior. He's blunt about her mistakes, but he's quick with encouragement. He's not too close or too heavy with praise.

Stephanie looks forward to the lessons more and more. They make her feel more secure, more powerful. 

They make her feel like maybe she can be a hero too.

 

It gets a bit tricky when she graduates to punching. She doesn't _want_ to hurt Jason, so her strikes are weaker than they should be and he knows it. 

Finally he signals for her to stop. 

"Okay. I'd start taunting you, but I don't think you'll fall for that, so we're gonna do some visualisation."

Stephanie looks at him dubiously. Jason smirks knowingly.

"Don't see me as Jason, Steph. See me as Cluemaster."

Apparently, she has a fantastic right hook.

 

She agrees to a food regimen – of sorts – to give her more nutrition, more hydration, more energy to burn. Jason knows her parents can't afford Bruce Wayne's specialist diet, and asking them wouldn't go over well anyway. 

She switches out her usual snacks with the (ridiculously expensive, they both say) nutrition bars Jason provides and swaps soda for water. 

She learns how to make smoothies with milk, ice and fruit juice. That's a messy experience.

Next time her mother goes shopping, she tags along to grab the whole grain bagels, trail mix, yogurt and Fig Newtons. 

She still doesn't have the most balanced diet, but she can feel a difference. 

She learns a lot over their weeks of training. It doesn’t all come easily to her, but that doesn’t matter. She tries again and again until she gets it right, refusing to quit no matter how exhausted she is or how much she hurts. 

Sometimes Jason just stares at her with this awed, pleased smile. 

“What?” she finally asks one day, rubbing wrapped knuckles.

He shakes his head, tone aiming for flippant. “You’re more stubborn than _I_ am.”

Stephanie smirks at him, singing back, “Anything you can do…”

Then she gets knocked on her butt again, but that's fine; she never stays there for long.

 

She gets a whole lot of scrapes and bruises. Jason teaches her how to conceal them enough that passing glances won't detect them, but she needs to get home to do them, and he warns her about closer scrutiny. 

That’s all right; her mother won't notice and her father won't care. 

At least, that’s what she expects.

Her mother isn’t sober for long when she comes home from work, but when she can focus her eyes narrow with concern and her hands ghost over Stephanie’s shoulder and her lips part for words that don’t quite come. Steph knows it’s building to something, some tender confrontation she can’t bear to think about, that will make her insides twist with sour amusement and her eyes burn with everything she can't say.

But that’s not where she hears it first. No; it’s when she’s slinging her book bag over her shoulder, and her father is sprawled out over his faded armchair.

“If some punk’s slapping you around, I wanna know about it.”

Her head whips around, eyes wide with shock before they narrow with her scowl.

“What would you care?”

“No one hurts my girl.”

She can’t stop the bitter, incredulous laugh that scathes her throat and pitches from her lips. 

No one hurts her but _him_. When someone else did he didn’t even _believe_ her.

It was his hands that left bruises on her arms, his words that echoed in her ears at night, _useless_ , _stupid_ , _rotten_ \- 

She remembers the first time he screamed at her. She remembers the first time he shoved her away. She remembers the first time she was locked in that closet, shouting and sobbing and scratching. She remembers everything he ever did to her and now he’s telling her _no one hurts his girl_. 

She wants to scream until her throat is raw. She wants to laugh until she's sick. She wants to punch him for real with her white-knuckled fists. 

Instead, she turns her back on him and runs.

She runs to their field. 

It's more instinct than anything. She's walked this path so many times, and she's so desperate for something secure, something _hers_. The familiar trails and their memories are a comfort, soothing the ache in her chest, the acid in her throat.

But it's not enough. When she gets there her muscles are taut and her face is hot and her hands are trembling. Her chest still burns and her throat is sour.

She hates it. Hates that he has the power to overwhelm her with so much bile and shame and rage.

She needs to _do_ something with it. 

And now she can.

She doesn't warm up, doesn't stretch or focus or breathe. She just starts _moving_ , a whirlwind of desperate kicks and brutal punches. She keeps going long after she exhausts herself. 

Her chest still burns, but it's different now, and it's because of _her_ , not _him_.

"That's _really_ bad form."

Bemusement and concern slice right through her, making her stumble. Next moment she's on her hands and knees, blinking up angrily as Jason stares down at her.

"You could've – "

"What, knocked?"

Jason kneels down in front of her, and when she meets his eyes head she's surprised to see the worry there. She's seen it before, but it always looks so odd on him. It's almost enough to make her forget herself, for a moment.

But then it's back, every bit of helpless rage, and her fingers dig into the dirt, tearing the damp grass. "What are you even _doing_ here?"

Jason shrugs, that slight, dismissive gesture that says it doesn't matter, really, let's talk about something else. "Needed to get out." He considers her intently. "So did you, obviously."

Stephanie stares down at her hands, fisted in the earth. Strands of hair stick to her flushed face, and her muscles are tense and tired enough to tremble.

"He." The word grates out of cracked lips, and it's the most she can offer. It's easy to talk to Jason, usually, easier than anyone in the world, but not about this, not _directly_ , even if he seems to know anyway, and she realises now it's probably because Robin has seen it so often before – 

And her fists pound on the grass.

"I'm not his _victim_!" she shrieks, eyes blazing as her head shoots up. "I'm not his victim and I'm not his _girl_ and I'm not – I'm so _tired_ of it, Jay, why can he _do_ this – "

Her voice is breaking and she hates that too, hates the hot spill of tears down her cheeks. 

But Jason isn't looking at her like she's weak. He's kneeling there with his fists clenched in front of him and his eyes bright and narrow, and he looks so sad and so furious. 

"Shit, Steph, I'm sorry," he says hoarsely. And then he shakes his head, sharp and quick. "It's not your fault, okay? All the shit he's down, all this – this power he has – "

"I'm supposed to be stronger now," she whispers, almost to herself, but of course he hears her and his shoulder slump and he almost reaches out to her but he knows – he knows she doesn't like to be touched, when she's like this. 

"This crap makes us stronger, sure. But it doesn't mean we're _invincible_. If it did, I – it wouldn't matter if – " Again, he shakes his head, determined and slow.

"It all still hurts like fuck, but the point is we keep fighting. And you always have, Steph, so you're kind of a big fucking hero, so there's no damn reason for you get all down on yourself."

She stares at him with wide eyes, and a part of her refuses to believe him but the rest of her _knows_ that Jason doesn't sugar-coat anything, he's honest and blunt and _real_ , even with all his secrets, she's known it since she met him –  
She tries to talk, but the words are choked by the sobs she's been fighting for so long, so she just leans forward and flings her arms around him.

They stay there from some time, there in the grass, arms wrapped around each other in a strong, steady embrace. For the first time that day, Stephanie feels safe.

Long after every tear is shed, Jason pulls back enough to look her in the eyes, his own a bit red. 

"How about we train the right way?"

They go through their breathing and their stretches and their katas, and the gentle, familiar movements soothe Stephanie's raw nerves and wracked muscles. They don't speak, enjoying a calm, comfortable silence.

Then it's time to spar, and when Steph falls into an offensive stance, she feels refreshed and strong.

Jason smirks at her, holding out his hand and curling his fingers.

For the first time that day, Stephanie smiles.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next time, she's the one holding Jason.

Next time, she's the one holding Jason.

It started out like any normal session. Jason seemed tense, but he got like that sometimes; part of the job, Stephanie figured. Usually it was gone by the time they were done chatting and stretching.

But the strain in his movements doesn't fade. His brow is furrowed, his lips curved in a faint frown.

Steph keeps her voice nonchalant as she reaches up to tighten her ponytail.

"You gonna tell me what's bugging you, or – "

"It's nothing," Jason snaps. Stephanie just arches her eyebrows at him. (She still hasn't mastered raising one at a time.)

After a moment, Jason shrugs. His way of apologising. "It's…not something you'd wanna hear about."

Stephanie snorts. "Bet it wasn't something you wish you saw, either, but that doesn't change anything." She smiles, slight and sincere. "Let me share it, 'kay? That's what best friends do. Or, you know, so I've heard."

Usually he'd smile back, but he just looks at her, and she can see how conflicted he is. Finally, he nods.

"Yeah, okay." His hands flex as he stares at the ground.

"I did – I did something, Steph, and I'm not sure if it was horrible or not."

Stephanie frowns, but doesn't say a word, just waits for him to keep talking.

"There was this woman. Her name was Gloria." His hands curl into fists as he speaks her name. "And I couldn't – I couldn't save her. After everything that bastard did to her, I couldn't even keep her safe."

Stephanie steps forward. "Jay, it's not your – "

But he shakes his head, fast and sharp. "He called her, right in front of me, and said he'd do it again. And we were too late, she'd already - " He swallows, hard.

"And this legal bullshit – he was a diplomat's son, see, so we couldn't touch him. And I couldn't just – "

"You couldn't just let him walk away," she says quietly.

"Yeah." He raises a fist to wipe roughly at his eyes. "I just – I kept hearing her voice, and seeing her hanging there, and he was never going to pay for it. He was just going to keep doing it to other people, other women – "

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I couldn't just leave it there. So I went – I just wanted to hurt him, Steph. I wanted to make him feel – a little bit of what she felt. But when we were fighting – he slipped, and I couldn't – I should have tried to save him, but I – "

He closes his eyes. "I'm a killer and I don't know what that means."

Stephanie stares at him, for a moment, and then she closes the distance between them and pulls him into her arms.

He's stiff in her embrace, at first, but then he relaxes against her.

"I don't know either, Jay. But…you're still a hero to me."

His laughter is pained and hollow against her chest.

"How do you figure?"

"Because…being a hero's about saving people. And now…he's never going to hurt anyone ever again."

Jason's quiet for a long time, and then he whispers, "Tell that to Batman."

As her arms tighten around him, "Maybe I will."

 

She doesn’t see him as much after that.

His relationship with Batman is strained.

_“He knows, Steph, I know he does.”_

_“I was serious about telling him, you know.”_

_That gets a laugh, weak but real. “I’d like to see that.”_

He’s more homesick than ever.

_“I keep thinking my mom would understand, you know? I – fuck, I miss her, Steph.”_

_She catches his hand in hers._

_“I know, Jay.”_

He’s more reckless, too. He doesn’t tell her but she can see the bruises, of course she confronts him.

_“It’s nothing, all right? God.”_

_She crosses her arms, glaring, and he glares right back until his shoulders slump._

_“I just – I keep hearing her, Steph. I’m so fucking - ” He shakes his head. “I’ll be more careful.”_

She tells them both it will get better.

 

Avoiding her parents is a skill Stephanie has honed to an art form.

"Stephanie?"

Okay, so maybe the art form is finger painting lately.

Steph suppresses the cringe and turns to her mom. She's sober, anyway, which is always nice, but that probably means she wants to talk, and –

"Sweetie, we need to talk."

Yep.

She pastes a smile on her face. “Sure.” Her mom smiles back, and nods to the couch. They sit there together, and for a few seconds it’s just silence, save for the news buzzing in the background.

Stephanie stares up at her. There are bags under her eyes – there always are – but they’re alert, focused. Concerned.

“I’ve noticed a change in you, the past few months.” She reaches out, hand hovering over Steph’s before she pulls it back again. “Are you – are you in _trouble_ , Steph? Please - ”

Steph closes her eyes. She knew this would be hard, but –

Then she feels her mother’s hand. Warm, and rough, and gentle.

Maybe she can tell her. Maybe she can meet Jason, and they can both be stronger, and they can be a real family -

“Breaking news: Robin is dead!”


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephanie deals with Jason's death.

She doesn't believe it at first. She only trusts the news so far, and it's been wrong about Robin before. It's not like there were details, either, just something about the Joker. (Jason had always been furious about him, always said someone should just _end_ it before anyone else got hurt. She wasn't sure she disagreed, either.)

But he doesn't show up, after she sprints from her mother's stare. She couldn't explain why her heart fell to her feet, why her her knuckles were white and her eyes were burning, so she just ran. 

Like she always does. 

She punches the air until her muscles ache and her lungs burn, refusing to cry because it's _not true_ , it can't be, Jason is a hero and he'd _promised her_ \- 

Finally, she collapses onto the grass, hugging her knees to her chest. The wind is picking up and it stings her cheeks, damp despite her best efforts.

Her eyes narrow. If she's going to find out for sure, then she'll have to _ask_.

 

The fervour that drove her trek to Wayne Manor sputters when she reaches the doors. What if they just turn her away? 

She won't let them. Her knocks are fast and fierce; she's all but punching the polished wood. Her knuckles are scraped already, and it _hurts_ , but she doesn't mind.

It seems like an eternity before the door opens. She stares up at a tall man with a white moustache; everything about him is impeccable, save for his red eyes. Alfred, it must be. She thought he'd be surprised, but he just looks sad.

"You must be Miss Brown."

The way he says it, wistful and mournful, makes her heart sink all over again. "It's true, isn't it? About Jason."

"He really _did_ tell you everything." The words are strained, and she barely hears them. She feels like her legs could collapse beneath her.

"Please, dear, come inside." Move? Yes. Yes, she can do that. She swallows hard, and nods her head, arms crossed tight over her stomach.

He was going to show her, someday. He was going to give her "the grand fucking tour, you'll love it". 

Now she barely notices anything, gaze skating right over the lush carpet and fine paintings and high ceiling. She doesn't take in anything until they enter the parlour, and he's standing there.

Bruce Wayne. Batman. Jason's father.

She barely hears his questions, just barrels right into him and starts hammering on his chest.

"He _trusted_ you!" It's a harsh, ragged scream. Wayne doesn't answer, doesn't even catch her fists. "You were his _dad_ , his _partner_! _Why didn't you save him_?"

She keeps going until her throat is hoarse and her fists ache more than they ever have, and then she can feel herself collapsing, except he catches her. He catches her and holds her as they both sink to the ground.

"I'm sorry." It's a hoarse, choked whisper, barely audible over her sobs, but she hears him; she hears him, and she hugs him back.

When the sobs fade, she pulls back, staring down at her knees. She didn't want to do that, didn't want to lose control in front of him, in front of anyone. "I'm sorry." The words are dry and cracked, and they don't feel like enough. She hurts so much, but it can't be anything like how _he_ feels.

"Don't be." His voice is firmer, now, as his arms fall. She only realises now how stiffly he's moving. Broken ribs, she thinks, and a score of bruised bones, and she bets he barely cared for the mat all. "I'm...glad he had a friend." She shuts her eyes tight, nodding. That matters, right?

"We're holding the funeral tomorrow. He...would have liked for you to attend."

She opens her eyes, nodding again. "Thanks." The word is strained but sincere. It feels like she cried all her anger away, and now - now that she really _sees_ him, she can see how wrecked he is. It's not obvious, really, but she's good at seeing grief. 

 

Her mom is even more worried about her than before, Stephanie knows that, but she doesn't give her time to ask questions. She heads straight to her room, locking the door behind her. 

She doesn't have anything really fancy, but she doesn't think Jason would want her to dress up for him anyway. She picks one of her nicer black blouses, and matching slacks, and sets them aside for tomorrow.

When she hears the knock on her door, she pretends to be asleep.

 

The funeral is small; just her, Alfred, Bruce, and two others - Jim and Barbara Gordon. Jason has talked about her before; she helped him get through starting school again. "Tough as nails, but totally fair. You'd like her." Another introduction that will never happen, not the way it was supposed to.

Barbara reaches up and shakes her hand, smiling through a black veil. "I always wanted to meet you. Jason was pretty...effusive." The smile trembles, a little. "But he always was." 

"Yeah." Her voice is trembling, too, but it doesn't matter, not here. You're supposed to cry at funerals. "Yeah, he - never did anything halfway." Whether it was talking or loving or fighting - or dying. 

She closes her eyes, and Barbara squeezes her hand.

That's when the minister's eulogy starts. It's dry and rote and she tunes out of it pretty quickly, trying to remember the sound of Jason's laugh, the feel of his arm in hers.

"Would anyone else like to speak a few words?"

She feels a squeeze, and realises she never let go of Barbara's hand.

"Go on." Her voice is soft, encouraging. "He'd want you to. You'll be a lot more true to him than this guy." 

Well, she can't argue with that, so Stephanie gives her a sad, nervous little smile and heads up. She faces the four of them, takes a deep breath.

"Jason was my best friend. Or, honestly - Jason was the only friend I really had. He was the only person I really _trusted_ because - everything he did was real. What you saw was what you got. So when he was kind, or funny, or brave, you knew it was true. You knew it would last." Another deep, trembling breath. "He was all of that. He could be a jerk, too, but he knew it, and he knew how to say sorry. And - and like I said, he was real, if he apologised he _meant_ it." 

She raises a hand, rubs roughly at her eyes. "He wouldn't want us all moping. He'd want us to - to celebrate the life he had, the differences he made. He'd want us to change the world." She sniffs, but she keeps going. "I'm a better person, because I met him. I'm a _stronger_ person, and I - we all have to - to keep being that. For him." 

She glimpses a smile from Barbara and a nod from Alfred before she turns away and heads back to her seat, slumping into her chair and closing her eyes.

She feels Barbara squeeze her knee, and she rests her hand on the older woman's, and she lets the tears fall.

He'd want her to get through this. He'd want her to live, so that's what she'll do. She'll live her life and change the world.

For him.


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What she should really do, she knows, is put Batman and Robin out of her mind. But her attention always shifts back to the headlines.

What she should really do, she knows, is put Batman and Robin out of her mind. Remember Jason Todd, but forget the secrets that were never hers to keep.

She does try. She still avoids her mom, which maybe isn't fair, but it's easy. She focuses on school work. She keeps up her diet, because it's routine now, and trains alone in the back yard. (Sometimes, she thinks she can feel his hands on her waist, gently correcting her stance.) She's hoping she might get a gymnastic scholarship.

She doesn't make friends, not really, but she talks to people; even laughs with them, sometimes. 

But her attention always shifts back to the headlines.

_Batman Attacks Mob. Batman On A Rampage. Batman Battles Bandits._

It makes her stomach twist. He's fighting like he just doesn't care any more.

It reminds her of herself, she realises, punching desperately at the air, except he's got real people to hit and it doesn't matter how hard they hit back. 

Jason wouldn't want this, but what's she going to do, hike back up the manor and tell him that? Please. Focus on that scholarship.

That's what she mutters to herself as she reads the paper, ignoring her mom's stare as she finishes her cereal. Focus on your own life, your own dreams, your own future. It's nothing to do with Batman's.

 

She hasn't made the decision, exactly, when she starts working. It's more like her hands are moving on their own and she doesn't bother to stop them. It's not a commitment, it's just passing the time. Just distracting her when she's alone.

She's _good_ at sewing; when she was little, she'd operate on her stuffed animals until she got it right (Mrs. Hoot sued her for malpractice), and as she grew older she mended her clothes. As the costume takes shape, so do her plans. 

It won't look perfect. It won't stop bullets or anything. But it'll do.

 

It's in her duffel bag when she knocks on Bruce Wayne's door. It's Alfred who answers, and he only looks surprised for a split second. Before Jason, she probably wouldn't have caught it. 

"Miss Brown. It's a pleasure to see you." He even sounds sincere, but aren't butlers taught to do that? She smiles anyway.

"Thanks, Mr. Pennyworth. I was just...I thought I could maybe talk to Mr. Wayne?"

This time, his expression goes bleak. "I'm afraid he's otherwise engaged." Crap. She knows what _that_ means. 

She can't just go home, though, not now. Not when things could be even worse this time. Steph gnaws at her lip before forging ahead.

"Look, I - I know - can I come inside?" He considers her, for a moment, eyebrow arched, before stepping aside to let her in. Her shoulders sag in relief, and her smile is grateful.

She sees it all a bit more clearly, now; giant paintings and golden statues and a baby grand. Any other time, her fingers would itch for the keys. But she's a girl on a mission, and she turns to Alfred with set shoulders and stern eyes.

Except he chuckles, which deflates her right off the bat. Alfred waves a hand. "I'm sorry, Miss Brown, but you looked remarkably..." Both their faces crumple, then.

She takes a deep breath. "That's - kind of why I'm here."

"Oh?" There goes that eyebrow again. Maybe he can teach her that.

"Yeah." She hefts her bag. "It's - I know Batman isn't...I mean, it's all over the news. And I - if he keeps up like that he's going to get _killed_ and Jason..." Again, she squares her shoulders. "I can't let that happen to Jason's dad."

Alfred just looks stunned, for a second. "And just what do you propose, young lady?"

"Well..."

 

Alfred knew a little about where Batman was headed - he's hunting a murderer, a cop killer - but it took her a while to figure out the rest. He let her scour through the Batcave's computers, and she followed the trail they gave her. Like a real detective, and maybe she'd feel proud, if she had any room left in her head. She finally finds them fighting on a dam, and for a few moments she can only stare. They dance along the edge like there's no question of falling off, Ravager's knife glinting with spray from the river. Then she gives herself a quick shake, and crouches her way into a good position. She imagines how she must look, a blotch of colour against the scarred steel. A little girl in discount fabric, playing at being a hero. If she's lucky, she won't have to do anything. It won't matter that she's never been in a real fight, it won't matter that she's not as strong or fast or skilled as Jason was.

Except Batman is taking more and more strikes from that knife. He doesn't even flinch, not once, but she can see him slowing down. Then he's down and the knife is at his throat and she has to - 

She barely feels herself jump. She's holding onto the dam, swinging her feet forward with all her might, praying it makes a difference and she doesn't just plummet to her death. _Here lies Stephanie Brown, at least she tried._

Ravager falls instead, and maybe she shouldn't feel giddy about it, but here she is. Her heart is pounding in her ears, and her shoulders are shaking, and Batman is staring at her like she's a ghost. 

"Who are you?" His voice is harsh and low, demanding an answer. Once upon a time, it would have been intimidating as hell. 

Stephanie grins beneath her mask, face damp and fingers aching.

"From now on, you can call me Robin."


End file.
